Work Text:
Setting sunlight ricochets across aluminum and steel echoed by the roaring thunder of the subway system beneath Yokohama. The thin glimmers of light are barely defined against the bright fluorescent bulbs vibrating ahead as well as the flashing advertisements spotted along the stone walls. The screech of tracks was hardly a cause for red eyelashes to flutter beneath the black rim of his hat.
Often Nakahara Chuuya found himself dozing on a bench nestled in the core of a random station, waiting for darkness to fall and work to begin. The menial noise of traffic and people shuffling was a strange comfort; it made him feel a part of it all despite who he is. A slice of normalcy and domesticity cut in the light of a darkened and gifted mafioso. Almost like waves of life to drown out the loneliness that crept in with the tide on moonless nights.
A deep sigh slipped past Chuuya’s lips into the bowl of the hat covering his face. It was just another day like any other with a night just like all the rest in his future. The repetition was good for business but bad for his mind; the monotony fodder for the melancholy lurking in the corners.
Chimes began to reverberate throughout the station, the notice of six o’clock ringing each second. Yet in all the days Chuuya had heard the same 18 rings, never had the fourteenth caused something to bump his ankle. Nor had the fifteenth a sharper bump. And the sixteenth definitely didn’t have a whine interrupting the bass note.
Chuuya readjusted the hat on his head before lifting his leg to inspect what was beneath him. The only thing he saw though was a flipped cardboard box, the edges nearly black with mold and discolored from the recent rain. It shifted a bit, yet nothing could have pushed the box from the outside. He reached down to flip the cardboard away.
Beneath the drooping cardboard was something the mafioso never expected. A small dog tinged orange with what should have been spots of white tainted black and brown from mud and garbage. It shook fur and mud both flying in equal measure to land unceremoniously across his shoe. Despite the muted colors of his fur though, yellow eyes shine brightly as he turned to look at Chuuya.
Nakahara Chuuya, feared Port Mafia executive, wanted murderer, expert martial artist; melted.
“Oh shit,” he muttered beneath his breath.
One hand flatted his hat tight against his hair. The other reached out gently, wiggling his fingertips in front of the puppy’s nose. At first, the small and matted orange fluff backed away. However, his back leg collapsed with a whine and whimper. Chuuya drops to his knees, biting the end of his fingertip to take his glove off.
“Oi mutt…shhh shh…” Chuuya tried again, his glove hanging limply between his teeth.
The dog scoots back more, but Chuuya continues leaning forward. His chest is nearly flat with the concrete, bent over his knees and seated on the cold and dirty subway platform.
“It’s ok, you’re out of the box now,” Chuuya’s voice drops in volume but rises in tone. “Aren’t you just a mess…” his voice trails. Fingertips brush behind the pup’s ear. The puppy leans into the scratch, Chuuya’s fingers moving slow to avoid pulling matted fur.
“You might be cute if you had a bath,” Chuuya smirks. The puppy yaps once, before taking off at a near run on three legs, the four dragging with whimpers and whines as he bounces up the stairs.
“What?!” Chuuya gasps, darting to his feet. He doesn’t notice the dirt and wet stains on his pants from sitting, instead of taking off after the puppy that obviously shouldn’t be running.
“How,” Chuuya pants four blocks, three flights of stairs, and two traffic violations and a near car crash later. “How can you run so fast so something so damn small?!”
Chuuya is weaving between people walking past, eyes focused on the limping pup a few feet ahead of him. It wasn’t the first time he questioned following the dog, but he at least needed help and a bath. And Chuuya did free him from the box so it was his responsibility.
The dog turns to yip, once again, but was cut short by running straight into a leg.
“I- awww look at you?” You say slowly. Chuuya rushes forward to stop, one hand on his hips and the other grasping his hat, breaths coming out in even, heavy intervals.
“About fucking time mutt,” Chuuya groans into the ground. He hadn’t noticed you nor that you had picked up the puppy gently.
“Is she yours?” You ask.
“Um, excuse me?” Chuuya gasps between pants. Sapphire eyes follow the absent spot of pup up your leg, taking in the curve of your hip and the troubling orange matted fluff resting in your arms on your chest before finally reaching your questioning gaze.
“Uh, um, no he’s not,” Chuuya stutters out. His eyes drop back to the mutt panting happily in your arms staring back at him. “I found her in the station a—-“ Chuuya turns to see just how far they’d come. Yet distance has been lost to him and you were beautiful and fuck. “That way.”
You giggle and Chuuya can’t breathe. He glances once more at the fluff. Just his luck, as peripherals catch the dirt and mud stains on his knees and scuffed shoes, he runs almost literally into a girl chasing a dog.
Like out of some kids movie.
“She-“ you correct, flipping the dog gently onto her back in your arms. Chuuya’s stomach tightened at the image, fuck it was all cute. “Seems to be a dumpster stray.”
Your fingers walk gently down the pup’s belly, pressing slightly before moving to her legs. You coo and whisper how well she’s doing with each movement, and Chuuya can’t help but watch the gentleness of your fingertips work some of the knots out. You grimace though as you reach her left hind leg.
“Shit,” you whisper.
“What’s wrong?” Chuuya walks forward to see. The leg the dog had been dragging looked awful: caked mud that dyed it brown barely covered the obvious darkened red of dried blood with deep yellow trails of puss.
“Seems someone decided to have fun before dumping her, fucking pricks,” you curse. “Can you-“ you hold out the puppy to Chuuya. He attempts to hold her like a baby, yet nerves that never break in fights or shudder during near-death experiences begin to pebble down his spine as you let go.
You reach into the large bag next to you, shuffling through and moving to the side. There’s a cafe table you gesture to, one at which Chuuya is all too happy to sit on. From the depths of your handbag, you pull a pair of rubber gloves and a metal radar device.
“What the hell is in there?” Chuuya asks. You chuckle and his cheeks turn pink.
“I like to be prepared,” you say.
You slip the rubber gloves on before pulling a wet wipe from inside the bag. Gently, you rub some of the grime away from the injured leg, the pup held in Chuuya’s arms. Your hair falls forward a bit, causing you to purse your lip and blow a puff of air to flip the bangs back. It doesn’t work, but instead of using your other hand, you just keep scratching the dog’s ears. Chuuya reaches slowly, the dog’s head sliding down his forearm so his fingers can brush the strands behind your ear.
“Thanks,” you say, eyes meeting his with a smile.
The pinkness from his cheeks transfers to yours as a deep red darkens his skin. A small shipper and howl of pain from the dog interrupts the moment.
“Shh it’s ok,” Chuuya coos. “It’s ok she is just helping…aren’t you?”
“Of course, this is my job.” You raise the device to the back of her neck and curl the soiled wipe in your palm.
“No microchip either,” you muse to yourself.
“Your job being..?” Chuuya asks. He wants to keep hearing you talk.
“I’m a vet tech at a clinic down the street,” you say. “Fuck.”
“Hate your job huh?” Chuuya asks after the expletive. You startle and eyes meet once more.
“Oh no, I love it just,” You somber and lean forward, fingers scratching the dog’s belly and one hand unknowingly grasping his forearm. Your skin is cool but not unpleasantly so.
“She doesn’t have a chip which means no owner. No owner means no one we can bill for the surgery this leg is going to need. And we don’t exactly have the budget to provide the care without it.”
“Get to the point,” Chuuya says. He knows the point but he wants to hear you say it. You sigh and your fingers drop from his arm. His skin turns to ice.
“The only thing I can do is take her to the shel-“
“She’s mine,” Chuuya interrupts. Your eyes widen with glimmers of hope.
“But you said she wasn’t,” you tilt your head in question.
“Well I found her and she’s mine now.”
In the back of his mind, Chuuya is screaming. He doesn’t even know if he can have a pet, fuck it he can have one if he wants. But the place isn’t dog-proofed and he doesn’t have dog food nor would his schedule allow him to train her and- the touch of fingertips back on his arm calms the racing thoughts. Sapphire eyes refocus to see you smiling.
“Well, if you don’t mind then, I’d like to take her to get her healed and checked up,” you reach out. Chuuya places her back in your arms. But with no dog, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
“Ya, um, when will she be ready?” Chuuya puts his misplaced glove back on.
“I can call you, should be a few days but you can come with I’m just heading there now,” you say.
Chuuya adjusts his coat and hat. Just as Chuuya goes to walk forward his phone rings. He looks quickly at the screen to see its Mori.
“Shit, um, here,” he says quickly.
He knows he shouldn’t keep the boss waiting but he had to make sure to get his dog back. Chuuya grabs the marker on the cafe table and writes his number on your forearm. Pink fills your cheeks and rushes to the tips of your ears.
“Work call,” he mutters. You simply nod and smile before ushering away with your hand to take it.
As your turn and begin your walk toward work, you turn your arm to check the numbers written on your skin.
“Oi!” Chuuya calls.
You turn to see the red-head racing after you. You wait for him to catch you through the crowd. The marker he apparently stole from the cafe is still in his hands. He flips the pen forward to you.
“So I can call and check on her? And know which cute vet tech is taking care of Petris,” he says. You flush and grab the pen.
“Petris? Like the French wine?” You ask instead, writing quickly on a napkin, also now stolen, your name and number.
Chuuya smirks. “You know wine?”
“Visited once, but why Petris?”
“Well, figures she needed a name,” Chuuya shrugs. He reaches out and pets Petris once more, smiling.
“Now be good so you can get better and become big and strong, ok?” Chuuya coos.
“Uh,” you muttered. His eyes snap to yours at the sound.
“What?” He grunts out.
“She isn’t going to get any bigger,” you say. His eyes widen. “She’s a Pomski. Small and cute for fancy lifestyles,” you smile before continuing. “Seems you two are made for each other!”
Chuuya nearly wants to break the earth beneath his feet, but Petris instead licks his nose.